Perfect Dark: D.O.A.
by Todd B. James
Summary: One operative in need teams up with an assassin, using his unconventional means for her agency's ends. New Chapter! added 4/24/02
1. Intro

Perfect Dark: Dead on Arrival  
  
Original story owned and written by: Rareware, Nintendo.  
  
The following written by: Todd B. James.  
  
PD: DOA  
  
Intro  
  
Sunday. August Seventeen. 2025. 3:28 AM.  
  
Chicago, U.S.  
  
The long-abandoned city of Chicago. Once a great, sprawling, thriving city, now a wasteland of concrete and asphalt. The occasional cruiser prowls the mean streets, the patrolling officers inside scanning the surface, trying to catch any suspicious behavior in the act. Actually, any behavior at all would suffice. During the war back in 2018, Chicago changed faces many times from bustling metropolis, to buzzing temporary military stand, to hellish hotzone, to it's current state since the war's end in fall of 2019. Widespread thought and rumors held that The Windy City had become The Nuclear Windy City, even though there was zero nuclear presence anywhere during the war aside from the enemy's turf. But, legends soon become national lies, and Chicago has since decayed into a deadly labyrinth that only gang members and club owners dare traverse. Four years can make a difference, though. Last year, in fact, some semblance of business finally returned, but after the G-5 fiasco was unraveled, business once again cooled off. The legitimate kind, that is.  
  
Deep within the bowels of The Uptown, an ubiquitous gray hovercar saunters it's way down a dark back-alley without it's headlamps burning a swath through the moody, dimly lit streets. It parks 15 feet from another hovercar, a dark red one, it's anti-grav drives still whirring. The gray one's passenger door opens. A figure in a brown overcoat steps out, holding a small package in his left hand, his right arm blocking the red car's sudden headlight glare. It's passenger door opens, and from it emerges another figure, clad in civilian garb, a DY357 tightly clenched between white knuckles.  
  
The Overcoat speaks first.  
  
"New England clam chowder."  
  
"Red or white wine?" Magnum responds.  
  
The Overcoat hesitates; The Magnum cocks the hammer of his DY.  
  
Overcoat struggles for a moment. God help me, I can never remember that!, he thinks to himself. "...Red?"  
  
The Magnum uncocks the gun and tucks it into his belt, much to the visible relief of The Overcoat.  
  
"You're half a week early. That raises eyebrows in this business, Chief, " Magnum calls out.  
  
Overcoat smirks in the shadows, stepping forward, handing over the small, tightly wrapped package.  
  
"What can I say? My contacts are being unusually efficient in the consummation of their given tasks," Said The Overcoat, receiving an antique PDA with several account numbers on the notepad file.  
  
Magnum discreetly nods the go-ahead to his partner, placing a device on the gray car's rear bumper.  
  
"All of the accounts are there. The amount each one's got is the same. 305 G's each." The Magnum assures.  
  
Overcoat checks their authenticity via an open connection to the agreed- upon banks on his watch. "They all check out, except for the missing numbers. What's the deal? Because our deal was six mil. There's only 16 accounts here. You're short a full seven figures, compadre`."  
  
"Maybe I still need to see if this thing is a solid commodity before I feel like investing, Mr. Harvard," Magnum spits out, examining the goods.  
  
Suddenly, The Overcoat unleashes his Beretta 920 .50 AE, training it's sights on The Magnum. "Perhaps it's validity can be proven true by another party, preferably one that's willing to pay!"  
  
Magnum's hands fly into the air, sweat tracing shining streaks across his stubbly cheeks.  
  
"All right, all right! Here. Don't shoot, I'm just reaching for the other four numbers."  
  
Never blinking, Overcoat snatches the second PDA, it's numbers quickly proven legit. He reholsters the B, a snooty smirk breaking the hawk-eyed staredown.  
  
"Glad to see that we're still partners... For the time being, at least," Overcoat says as he steps into the car, slamming the door.  
  
Magnum watches it take off, lowering his hands and putting on a smirk of his own. He watches it disappear behind a building, then listens for the whirring a-g drives to make sure of it's departure. He calls for his driver.  
  
"Yo. The coast is 'beachy keen.' Get out here."  
  
His compatriot saunters out from behind the street corner, handing his partner the other half of the device.  
  
Magnum cracks a crooked smile, examining the lighter-shaped remote, popping a cig in his craw.  
  
"...Yeah, I'm glad, too, pal. And I'm real glad that you're my cheapest contact yet!"  
  
Magnum lights the cigarette, puffing that first crisp blow, reveling in the distant explosion.  
  
"C'mon, Shemp, Moe needs us back home in an hour, an' I need to pick up a few things."  
  
They both slumped deep into the brown leather seats, the partner juicing up the drives.  
  
Magnum takes one last, long drag, then flicks the cig out the window as the bloodred vehicle gains altitude and speeds off into the night.  
  
Ch. 1 coming soon. Reply and, be honest, now dearies!! 


	2. Byers and Sellers

Chapter 1  
  
Sunday. August Seventeen. 2025. 6:05 AM.  
  
Portland, U.S.  
  
  
  
The sun is about a minute from breaking the horizon, a minute from those life-sustaining rays finishing their 8-minute journey, and bathing the whole city in a beautiful orange luminence. That great color is exquisitely reflected off of the building's windows, seemingly ignited with anticipation of the morning. Birds chirped. Lawns were mowed. Papers were delivered, and not in the usual puddle of mud. Around August, and especially in good ol' Portland, a rainy morning is almost something to be expected, so this bright, clear, Sunday morning elevated the citizen's spirits immensely. Mailmen petted the bulldogs, UPS men delivered packages like marathon runners, middle class people backed out of their driveways and waved at one another, almost everyone was happy. Everyone, that is, except for the only one in town that was sleeping in.  
  
In a loft apartment near Portland's city limits, Joseph Byers awakes to the mind-numbing, persistent babbling of the alarm on his watch.  
  
"You must get up. Your very life depends on it!!! C'mon, get up and put me on, dude! Get outta bed!! Time to get moving!!" Slowly rolling over, Joseph stared with bloodshot eyes at the current bane of his existence, trying to 'will' it to cease. His telekenesis not working, he reminded himself for the four thousanth time to change that horrid message into something worth waking up to.  
  
'Uuugh. Need... coffee. Must...Have...Coffee,' he thought to himself. He pulls the covers off his legs, swinging them around the side of the bed, rubbing his eyes. Realizing that the incessant little device had not yet shut up, Byers reached a bedcreased arm over to the watch, switching it off. His eyes were clearer now, allowing him to marvel once again at how close he dances on the edge of death in daily practice. The tale told by the long, winding scar on his upper right forearm would always clench his jaw with pain and frustration when recalled. His mind involuntarily flashed back to that day. The day when his friend, Ash Parker died. He could smell the fresh-cut grass in the park. The wind shaking up the leaves, creating a soothing late-afternoon sound that could sedate a doberman on speed. That wondrous late spring day which came close to being his last.  
  
Joseph Byers and Ashton Parker had the local market cornered. Byers had the upper west-side, as well as the entire western shoreline, while Parker took care of everything else. Rarely, if ever, would any customers force one to encroach into the other's zone, as every one who did so in the past ended up eating the barrels of both assassins. They were friends, yet they almost never contacted one another. As long as they stayed out of each other's way, there really was nothing to talk about. So there was geniune suspicion when Byer's phone rang, and Parker was at the other end.  
  
"Yo, is this my favorite westsider?" asked Parker.  
  
"Who's asking?"  
  
"Your favorite eastsider!"  
  
"Heh. Been a while, my man. Had any good jobs lately?"  
  
"Since you brought it up, yeah, I have. This one I'm on now's real weird, though." Parker's tone changed; weird never meant anything good with him.  
  
"How weird? They want to watch?" Byers shared a nervous laugh with Parker. As little as he knew about him, Byers was worried; it took a lot to shake up The Park, and any nervousness at all was usually a signal for danger.  
  
"No, man. It wasn't what they want, it's WHO they want."  
  
It was Byers who nervously laughed this time. His eyes darted over to his desk, where a red dossier sat. His next job. He had been contacted by his latest customer earlier that week, a cryptic sort who told very little of the mark in question. The customer said all the mark's info would be left in a safe deposit box which he was sure could be picked open quite easily. Byers had retrieved the dossier yesterday, and it's presence somehow radiated an evil glow, given this current development. If Parker was worried about his mark, there could be reason to believe his could prove worrisome as well.  
  
"And... WHO do they want?"  
  
"You. They want you, man." A beat. Shocking news, a customer putting a tag on another go-to guy's head.  
  
"Whoa. Heh, I mean, this is... just... wow. Did you.. did you take it?" Byers asked, a troubled tone in his voice.  
  
"I said I'd think about it. Well, I thought, and I came up with a what if."  
  
"'What if?' What do you mean? 'What if' what?"  
  
"What if they are trying to free up the market? Open it up to some outside competition?"  
  
"Hmmm... Seems plausible. We do tend to dominate," Byers offered.  
  
"Yeah, we do. But then I thought if they even hinted about taking you out, I'd be next."  
  
"Well, even if you were to go through with it, no one competent enough would be left to... Wait a minute." Byers let the reciever fall to the gritty floor, rushing over to the desk to see who his next mark was. His pal's suspicion was confirmed. He walked back to his bedside, the dossier still in hand as he picked the phone back up.  
  
"Still there?" A shocked Byers inquired.  
  
"Yeah. Let me guess."  
  
"That's right. Jeez, this is unbelievable. I never thought this would happen."  
  
"How much did he offer you?"  
  
"A quarter. What's your take?"  
  
"Same as you. 750 g's."  
  
Silence. Both men stewed over what to do. If they didn't take care of each other, they'd get taken care of by someone else, sooner or later.  
  
"I guess there's only one thing left to do, then."  
  
"Yeah, I guess so."  
  
They both agreed to take their respective assignments, Parker in person, Byers by phone. They would be going after the same man, however. The man who gave them the assignments. Lucas Stark.  
  
This is kind of a half-chapter. But I have most of the other half done, so don't worry! It's coming soon! Also, if anything comes to mind, good or bad, say it. Please review! Please? I'll be your best friend!  
  
p.s., I'm going to introduce Jo in the other half of the first chapter. I've got a really good idea of how to have Joseph and Joanna meet. And yes, I'll even bring up the Joe and Jo thing! Peace! 


End file.
